


The Secret Life of Astrid Farnsworth

by kerithwyn



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A life lived behind the scenes. An ongoing serial fic; a love letter to Astrid Farnsworth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sprocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprocket/gifts).



> Chapter 1 written for Sprocket, for the 2015 Rarelywritten fic exchange. Thanks to Elfin, Wikiaddicted, and Wendelah for early looks.
> 
> Chapter notes will be posted in their own section at the end of the fic, to avoid cluttering up the ongoing story text.

**September 2008**

_You knew the job was dangerous when you took it,_ Astrid thought, resignedly reaching for her phone as it sounded a certain distinctive alert. Being interrupted in the middle of a church potluck dinner and fundraiser still rankled, though. Astrid firmly believed the world should stop on Sunday evenings.

She checked her phone and her heart sank. There was an airplane down at Logan, and all agencies were being scrambled.

Astrid looked at her display with regret. She’d been baking cupcakes for days in preparation for the fundraiser—the church had pledged its time and effort to the Boston Food Bank. Astrid sighed and called over to the neighboring stall. “Tish, can you handle my table?”

Leticia Robinson glanced over, her beaded braids swinging. “Sure, hon, need a break?”

“Work.” Astrid waved the phone and Tish nodded, her expression turning sympathetic.

“Not a worry. G’on, Astrid, I’ll make sure every last cupcake gets sold.”

“Thanks, Tish.” Astrid stowed her apron under the table, grabbed her purse, and went to find her father.

Stephen Farnsworth didn’t need to be told; he saw her face. “Aw, honey, not today!”

“Yeah. Something awful at Logan Airport, it’ll be on the news soon.” She shook her head to his alarm. “Downed flight out of Germany, sounds really bad.”

Her father nodded soberly. “So I guess I shouldn’t save you a piece of the lemon pie Sophie Jackson sweet-talked me into buying.”

Astrid smiled at him, grateful for his understanding. “Probably not. I’ll call you when I can, dad.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Go save the world, baby girl.”

The alert had been department-wide, so Astrid assumed her supervisors were already on the case. She stopped at her apartment to change into work clothes before heading over to the Federal Building. The place was in a frenzy, every phone blinking with multiple calls on hold and printers working overtime.

Agent Chatterjee nodded to Astrid when she came in. “Sorry to disrupt your evening.”

“Hazard of the job,” Astrid said, shrugging off her jacket. “What can I do?”

“We’re still gathering intel and waiting for eyes-on reports. Agents Francis, Dunham, and Scott are on their way to Logan.” Chatterjee grimaced, his eyes worried. “CDC’s got the plane on lockdown. Homeland Security’s on the scene, they’re taking point.”

Astrid opened her mouth, then shut it again. If the CDC and DHS were involved, this was far more than a plane crash. If it was an act of terrorism—

No point getting ahead of herself. Chatterjee nodded toward her desk. “You should have the preliminary passenger list. Grab rows...” he checked his iPad. “25–30. Full intelligence checks, the works.”

“Got it.” Astrid booted up her computer, rolled her shoulders, and started logging into databases. She paused long enough to get a cup of coffee and then dove into the list. Despite the horrific circumstances, this was familiar work: gathering intel so that the senior agents on the ground had as much information as possible. Someday she might be one of those prime investigators, but for now Astrid was determined to prove her reliability by bending all her effort to whatever task needed doing.

An hour or so into her work, Astrid got the full impact of precisely how horrific the circumstances really were. The entire office stopped to look at the pictures from the plane’s interior as they were uploaded to the servers...and then stopped entirely, as shock and revulsion and anger took hold of every person there. Astrid found herself swallowing convulsively, trying not to vomit; several of her co-workers had already given up the fight. 

This had to be terrorism. Biological terrorism, perhaps every agent’s worst fear, the dread of a threat that could wipe out cities or even nations with an inescapable vector. These effects could only be man-made, nothing in nature could do this. Suddenly they weren’t dealing with an isolated incident but the harbinger of terror to come.

One by one, the agents on duty went back to their stations with grim determination. Astrid paused long enough to compose herself in the restroom along with a number of the other female staff members, sharing in their mutual combined anxiety and resolve. They would find the perpetrators and stop the threat. They had to.

Sometime later, Agent Chatterjee leaned over her shoulder. “Knock off, Agent Farnsworth. We’ll see you again bright and early.”

“But—” Astrid protested, and then glanced at the clock. It was 11:30 and she’d barely made a dent. “I can keep going.”

“Yeah, but you won’t be alert enough to process. No one’s getting extra points for passing out at their desks.” Her supervisor nodded his chin toward the rest of the room, still full of activity. “A bunch of fresh agents came in, they’ll take it overnight.”

Most of those agents, Astrid knew, would have been on vacation or otherwise off-duty. But Samir was right. Astrid carefully saved all her findings to the communal server so others could pick up where she’d left off.

Even with the occasional disruption to her life or peace of mind, Astrid liked her job. She knew she’d been fortunate to be posted in the Boston office; she could easily get over to Pennsylvania to see childhood and college friends, making it easier to preserve those relationships. It was far better than being sent to the boonies, like many young agents. She’d been warned about that at Quantico and figured that she’d lucked out, knowing when to count her blessings.

Agent Chatterjee was a fair supervisor and the work was interesting. It was never the same week to week: investigating interstate kidnappings with Agent Francis, assisting Agent Dunham in her role as an interagency liaison. She liked working with both of them and made a point to be responsive to their requests. Astrid also talked to dozens of other agents in the course of each week and she knew the contacts she was making now would stand her in good stead over the course of her career, wherever it took her.

It was past midnight when she got home. Astrid stripped off her clothes and fell into bed, only making sure the alarm was set for an early morning before unconsciousness took her.

She woke barely rested but determined. This was definitely an espresso morning, Astrid thought, and set the machine to brew while she took a shower.

Agent Dawson had official control of the room first thing in the morning, but an Agent Broyles out of Homeland Security was commanding all the agents’ attention. He stood at the center of the chaos, fielding a dozen questions at once and issuing orders in an imperious voice.

The day quickly devolved into a frenzy of coordinating information between agencies that held their secrets and authority close at hand. Astrid, listening hard over the hubbub, heard Agent Broyles send Olivia Dunham on what she obviously considered to be a wild-goose chase. It seemed clear he was intent on getting her out of the way. Astrid was shocked by the disrespectful way he spoke to her and half expected Olivia to file a complaint, but instead she just rolled her eyes and left, followed swiftly by Agent Scott.

That wasn’t a surprise to Astrid. Despite the cautions against interoffice dating, it was clear to Astrid that Agents Dunham and Scott had a strong connection. She thought they’d been successful at hiding it, mostly, although Agent Francis knew for sure. Charlie Francis cared a lot about Olivia and seemed to tolerate Agent Scott for her sake. Astrid thought that was mostly due to what would happen if the rest of the office found out, but he didn’t seem happy about keeping an unwelcome secret.

Not long after the two agents left, the office received a call from Agent Dunham requesting a hazmat transport team. Agent Broyles seemed as surprised by that as anyone else, though he approved the request without comment. But whatever they’d discovered must’ve been too volatile to wait for a team, because reports of an explosion at that same storage facility almost immediately followed Olivia’s call. Astrid listened, heart pounding, as emergency responders scrambled to the facility.

She followed the dispatchers’ reports, surreptitiously eavesdropping on their communications. The EMTs at the scene reported Olivia was banged up but okay, but Agent Scott...something terrible, unexplainable, had happened to John Scott.

Agent Francis ran out the door, heading for the hospital. Astrid wanted to email Olivia to send her support but held back, not wanting to intrude on what had to be terrible grief. 

She didn’t have time to worry as everyone available was immediately set to investigating the storage units, their renters, and anything remotely associated with them. The guard who’d called in the alert was being hauled in for questioning. Astrid started scrolling through the security camera footage, looking for anything relevant. Whatever Agent Scott had been exposed to, it was similar enough to the effects on the passengers of Flight 627 to demand the full force of the agency’s attention. 

The moment Agent Dunham reappeared in the Federal Building, Astrid made sure to be at her side. Protocol be damned. “Please let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

Olivia blinked at her, as if startled. “Thank you, Agent Farnsworth.”

But the only help Olivia needed was arranging transport to Baghdad, in search of a family member who could gain her access to a scientist who might—a very slim “might,” Olivia confessed to Astrid—be able to help John.

“But I can’t talk to Dr. Bishop without a family member’s signoff, and his only living relative is in Baghdad.” Olivia paused, eyes narrowing. “If Broyles really gave a damn, he’d authorize a Patriot Act warrant. Instead, he’s ‘letting’ me travel halfway across the globe to find this man’s son. Apparently, Peter Bishop doesn’t believe in email.”

Astrid didn’t miss the catch in Olivia’s voice, or the hope she was clinging to. “I’ll find you a plane.”

She requisitioned one of the jets available to the FBI and received almost immediate approval, along with notice that a pilot would be standing by. Perhaps not surprising, considering she’d invoked Agent Broyles’ name on the request. _Colonel_ Broyles, Astrid had discovered on a quick search, had a decorated military history and a reputation for faint patience with those who didn’t leap when he said jump.

She also arranged for a car and an interpreter. If the assignment was considered a higher priority, Astrid could fill that role...but considering Agent Broyles’ seeming disgust for the entire affair, Olivia was probably pushing his last nerve with her transport request.

Over the next two days Astrid had her hands full with interagency communications. She tried to follow up on the plane samples with the CDC representative Dr. Paley, but he but he kept dodging her calls. When she finally got him on the line, the doctor proved both unhelpful and verbally abusive. “I told you, there aren’t any matches!” he shouted into her ear. 

Astrid took a long, slow breath before replying. “Send the full report with your signoff,” she told him, and hung up.

The office was full of tension between the rigors of the investigation and concern over a wounded agent. Astrid didn’t feel she knew Agent Scott at all. He’d always been pleasant toward her, cordial even, but that smile never seemed to touch his eyes. Not for her, anyway. Astrid was sure Olivia saw more in him than his public face showed. 

But he’d been a colleague and a familiar presence around the office, and Astrid wasn’t satisfied with the lack of official reports from the hospital. “Agent Francis, I wanted to ask if you had an update on Agent Scott.”

Agent Francis squinted at her. It was, she’d come to realize, one of his habitual expressions. “I didn’t realize you were close.”

She recognized the deadpan teasing as a habit, too. “I was just concerned for a fellow agent.” And for Olivia’s sake, she didn’t say. 

Charlie blew out a breath. “No news but bad news. The docs can’t do anything else, they’re stumped. He’s hanging on, but....”

No need to finish that. “Hopefully Agent Dunham will find something useful.”

“She usually does.”

In unspoken support of that hope, Astrid read up on Dr. Bishop. In 1991 one of his assistants had been killed in a lab accident, leading to his arrest for manslaughter and permanent placement at St. Claire’s by reason of mental incompetence. Astrid followed the research that had led Olivia to his work, but further digging led to a number of redacted reports and classified files far above her pay grade. Before his incarceration, Walter Bishop had been far more than his public résumé implied. 

Agent Dunham’s plane returned on Thursday morning. Against all odds, she’d come back with the scientist’s son. Astrid could’ve told anyone never to bet against Olivia Dunham.

Olivia headed immediately to St. Claire’s hospital without checking in at the office. Within an hour, Agent Chatterjee glanced over toward Astrid. “Dunham needs a hand. She’s asked for you to meet at her and the consultants at Mass General.”

Astrid nodded, pleased. Olivia’s tenaciousness had granted her access to the one man who might be able to help Agent Scott, via the one man who could enable that access. Astrid could learn from that kind of perseverance. And there was, she had to admit, a certain pride in being singled out for field duty.

“Saddle up, Farnsworth,” Agent Francis called, and she hurried to ride with him to the hospital. He was silent on the ride, and Astrid held her tongue out of respect for his apparent anxiety.

“Scrub in,” Olivia said by way of greeting. Astrid did so, donning the blue coverall and gloves. Agent Scott was being held in a sterile compartment, negating the need for masks.

She got her first look at Dr. Bishop and his son over Agent Scott’s eerily translucent body. Walter Bishop seemed twitchy, shooting nervous glances everywhere—probably not a unreasonable response from someone who hadn’t been outside in seventeen years. Peter Bishop was handsome in a scruffily appealing way, although the glares he kept shooting at both Olivia and his father made it clear that his presence here was strictly under protest. Resentment toward Olivia for pulling him away from his life, Astrid thought, but something considerably deeper where Dr. Bishop was concerned.

Astrid wasn’t too unhappy to be sent away to fetch ginger ale at Bishop’s request; despite her resolve, she had no desire to watch him take a scalpel to that bizarre, unnatural skin. She had a strong stomach, already proven by her previous work with the Bureau, but there were limits. Those limits were going to be thoroughly tested by this case.

The examination of Agent Scott evidently didn’t go to Dr. Bishop’s liking. From outside the room Astrid heard him demanding his own laboratory, and then the crash of equipment to the floor. Olivia came out, looking exceptionally irritated, followed by the two Bishops.

Olivia turned to Astrid with a grim, determined look. “I’m going to get Broyles to reopen Dr. Bishop’s old lab. Head over to Harvard and inform the administration, please. It’s the Kresge Building basement. If they argue—”

“If they argue,” Astrid said, “I’ll set Agent Francis on them.”

Olivia seemed too tired to smile, but she did nod her appreciative thanks. 

Astrid always liked the Harvard campus, on the occasions she had to visit. Informing the administration of the impending takeover—Astrid refused to think of it as hostile—was less enjoyable, but halfway through the discussion the school office received an email from Agent Broyles that brought all argument to a stop.

She met Olivia and the Bishops outside the Kresge Building. Their group walked though the building to a little-used stairwell with access to the basement level. The dungeon-like door opened on a large dusty space, easily the length of the building. Windows sat at the level of the ground above, affording views of bypassers’ ankles. Some of the lights came on when the switches were thrown, while others sputtered and threatened to blow. Everywhere unidentifiable pieces of equipment lay under neglected tarps and Astrid wondered how much of it could realistically still be useful. 

“So much happened here,” Dr. Bishop intoned. “And so much is about to.”

She watched with fascination as Dr. Bishop began to explore his old lab...and blanched at Olivia’s pointed look, when Bishop began spouting off a list of required scientific paraphernalia. She hurriedly reached for a notepad and took down the list, pausing at the request for—after Peter translated—an actual cow. 

While Olivia and the younger Bishop sniped at each other, Astrid followed after Dr. Bishop as he made his way through the lab, muttering. “Only thing better than a cow is a human. Unless you need milk. Then you really need a cow.” 

She threw Olivia a disbelieving glance, which was met with a resigned shrug. Astrid nodded and continued the inventory. If the mad scientist needed a cow, he’d get the cow. The order of the day demanded any effort, no matter how nonsensical, to save Agent Scott.

Despite the circumstances, Astrid enjoyed the challenge of acquiring the esoteric equipment. Tracking down an optical coherence tomograph and a purebred cow was a lot more interesting than filling out requisitions for ordinary equipment. Itemizing the expenses for the official report was less fun, but Agent Broyles had authorized carte blanche for Dr. Bishop’s needs.

Astrid spent the rest of the day uncovering equipment and unearthing the rest of the lab while Dr. Bishop and Agent Dunham examined samples and photographs from the plane. She found a stove and coffee pot, washed the latter out five times and then a sixth for good measure, and started brewing coffee acquired from the cafeteria upstairs.

The day edged into night but Olivia and Dr. Bishop seemed disinclined to stop, and Astrid was determined to remain on call as long as she was needed. She put in a quick dinner order with the cafeteria and restocked on the instant coffee before the staff went home for the evening.

She listened—because half her job was listening, keeping track of information that might be needed later—as Dr. Bishop talked about his old work, Agent Scott’s condition, and the bizarre possibility of accessing the comatose man’s memories through a “shared dream state.”

It was terrifying and outrageous and _exciting_ all at the same time, what Dr. Bishop was proposing. Crazy! Completely preposterous, according to Peter. And yet Dr. Bishop sounded so sure, and Olivia was clearly ready to try anything that might save John.

Astrid was the subordinate agent, she had no authority here. But she did have a responsibility to offer her perspective, even if unasked. She stole a moment with Olivia while Dr. Bishop was assembling the chemicals he’d need—chemicals that she’d procured, which made Astrid an accomplice to the operation. “Agent Dunham, are you sure—”

She didn’t get any further. Olivia nodded jerkily, the motion short with controlled tension. “I have to,” she said, almost in a whisper, and that was the end of that. And then with visible effort, “I didn’t notice the time. Agent Farnsworth, you should go home.”

“Not until you do,” Astrid said, prepared to argue, but Olivia’s gaze had already drifted past her to the ancient sensory deprivation tank. That sealed it; if Olivia was determined to do this, it was the least Astrid could do to make the attempt as safe as possible. Without another word she gathered up cleaning supplies and began scrubbing the worst of the rust out of the inside of the tank.

She understood the basic principle of sensory deprivation as it pertained to meditation and relaxation. But this wasn’t anything nearly as mundane. Given Dr. Bishop’s running commentary on the experiments he’d performed, it seemed entirely possible _Altered States_ had taken its premise from his work. What he wanted to try here didn’t sound any more plausible.

Sometime during the night Peter tapped her on the shoulder and, wordless, bent to scrub at the patches of rust she hadn’t been able to remove. Astrid nodded her thanks and glanced around. There was nothing else she could do—Dr. Bishop had his hands full with his chemical concoctions, and Olivia was still pouring over reports—so she liberated an old army blanket from the supply closet and curled up in a corner, using her purse for a pillow.

Her sleep was predictably fitful, punctuated by Dr. Bishop’s mutterings and the gurgle of liquid in beakers. She woke when the sun came in through those high windows and went upstairs to wait for the cafeteria personnel to arrive. She scrounged breakfast from day-old bagels, some slightly bruised fruit, and as many packets of coffee and non-dairy creamer as she could carry in a repurposed produce box.

Astrid stood by, feeling ill at ease, as Agent Scott’s translucent body in its transparent plastic casing was transferred to the lab. It looked entirely too much like a glass coffin, but this wasn’t a fairy tale. Astrid knew the man inside, he was dying, and the only help she could offer was prepping the tank with salt at Dr. Bishop’s request.

But the proposal didn’t sound any safer or saner in the light of day, and Astrid nearly reached for her phone several times to call Agent Broyles and have this experiment shut down. What stayed her hand, what solidified Astrid’s resolution to see this through, was Olivia’s determination and utter fearlessness. Even in the face of Peter’s ongoing skepticism, even at Agent Francis’ look of palpable disbelief when he dropped in at the lab.

Shot up with home-brewed chemicals, a sensor jammed into her spine, Olivia went into the sensory-deprivation tank in a frankly desperate effort to draw information from John’s subconscious. Astrid wasn’t sure she would have had the courage, even to save someone she loved.

“If you want to watch,” Dr. Bishop said, “you can come closer. You work here?”

Astrid blinked at him, but they’d been introduced under extremely stressful circumstances. Perhaps he’d forgotten. “Yeah, I’m Astrid Farnsworth, assistant to Agent Dunham.”

For a horrifying instant, Dr. Bishop seemed completely confused. “Who?”

Astrid pointed at the tank.

“Oh, yes. I’m Walter...”

Peter interrupted, impatience dripping from every syllable. “Bishop. Walter Bishop.” 

“Yes, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The exchange was only more of the sniping that had been ongoing since Astrid first saw the two of them together, but under these circumstances she didn’t appreciate it in the slightest. Not with Olivia undergoing such an unconventional, dangerous trial.

But she found herself caught up in Dr. Bishop’s explanations nonetheless. “These are her brain rhythms,” he said. “More important than most people know, regarding cerebral regional interaction. Critical.”

Astrid followed him over to another display as he continued, “And these are his. As the drugs take effect, the probes will synchronize the electrical signals from both. That’s what the brain is, an electrical router. Should be able to be interpreted by the other.”

She could feel Peter’s eye roll from where he stood. “Simple really, like making taffy.”

Bishop ignored him. “And when the rhythms are in sync, they should be in the same place. So to speak.”

Astrid couldn’t pretend that she believed in what Dr. Bishop was suggesting, but she didn’t have to believe in it. Only the results would matter, if it worked like he thought it should. 

The wait was terrifying, and then it was nerve-wracking, and then it was boring. Astrid made food runs and brewed coffee and watched the screens, searching for any sign of synchronization.

It finally seemed to be working, the lines running in parallel, until Olivia’s monitors began to shriek. “Open the tank,” Dr. Bishop demanded, and Astrid hurried to obey without hesitation. Peter was doing the same, helping her haul Olivia out of the tank. Olivia was thrashing, seizing as Dr. Bishop applied a syringe, and Astrid had a moment of sheer, blind panic before Olivia gasped for air and cried out, “I saw him. I saw John get hurt. I was there! I was there, I saw him.”

Dr. Bishop smiled with triumph, Peter looked almost angry, and Astrid...Astrid didn’t know what to think. This couldn’t be real science, nothing here had obeyed any legitimate scientific principle that she knew of. And yet somehow....

Olivia was up and dressed and running out of the lab before Astrid could get a word in edgewise. Dr. Bishop seemed ecstatic at the results of his experiment, too pleased with his own genius to pay any attention to Peter’s irritated looks. Astrid began cleaning up the tank and sterilizing the used equipment, putting it away neatly as a matter of habit, though she doubted any of it would be used again. This place was nearly a museum, she mused, a tribute to mad science gone by.

She tried to corner Peter to discuss the incident, but he’d slipped out of the lab. Olivia called briefly to say she was following up on a lead at Massive Dynamic. She hung up before Astrid could get details, but when she checked her laptop she discovered that she suddenly had access to Agent Dunham’s ongoing case file. Olivia was circumspect even in her private notes—understanding that they weren’t really private, housed on the FBI servers—but the man she’d seen in her vision had worked for Massive Dynamic and she was hoping to track that faint thread to a cure.

Astrid wished her Godspeed. In the meantime, she was determined to support the investigation in any way possible. If that meant watching _Spongebob_ with Dr. Bishop while a cow drooled in her hair, Astrid was on top of it.

Peter came back in time to join in a food order from the local Chinese restaurant with the best Yelp reviews. They were eating when Olivia called Peter from the airport, saying she needed him and his father to interrogate the suspect she’d located.

Astrid went out front with them, fully intending to ride along, but Olivia shook her head. “I can’t ask you to work on this any longer than you already have,” she said, conveniently ignoring the fact that she’d been pushing herself even harder. “I’ve already got a tac team on the way to pick up Steig. I’ll take custody of Dr. Bishop from here.”

Despite Astrid’s desire to stay involved in the case, she couldn’t in all honesty argue that she was at her best. Certainly in no shape for a tactical operation. She had no idea how Olivia was still up and functioning, but of course, Olivia had very personal reasons driving her. 

“Okay,” Astrid said, undeterred. “You’re not asking. But I’ll stay here anyway. If— When Steig gives up the cure, I’d like to be on hand to help.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said, and then she and the Bishops were gone.

They returned in triumph two hours later, Dr. Bishop and his son deep in a heated discussion over the chemicals they’d need to neutralize the toxin affecting Agent Scott. As before, Astrid couldn’t offer anything more than another pair of hands, but she could sterilize beakers and prepare syringes as needed. The work was intense yet intermittent, and Astrid was glad to see Olivia leave the lab for what had to be a much-needed breath of fresh air.

But Olivia came back looking shaken, and it seemed unlikely she’d agree to rest for real until this attempt to cure John ran its course. It was a meticulous process, but as time wore on Astrid watched Agent Scott’s skin slowly lose that awful translucency and regain color. 

And then, finally, it seemed to be over. Agent Scott was transferred to the hospital, his vitals stabilized. Another agent came to take custody of Dr. Bishop, and Astrid made her weary way home. She realized she hadn’t spoken to her father since the previous Sunday, and dropped him a quick email to say she was fine, just busy, and that she’d catch up with him when she could. Astrid crawled into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and wished like a child that tomorrow would be a better day.

She woke to the opposite. Astrid was jolted awake by her phone shrilling an alert in utter disregard of the fact that it was Saturday. During the night there’d been some kind of incident at the hospital. The suspect was dead, and John Scott was dead, and no one could tell Astrid why or how. Agents Dunham and Francis were notably MIA from the Boston office, and the lack of information about the night’s events seemed overt in its absence.

The agency was still in a state of quiet shock when Agent Dunham stalked into the office mid-afternoon. She immediately went to her private office and closed the door, effectively forbidding conversation or condolences.

It was another long hour before Astrid’s desk phone rang from Olivia’s extension. “Agent Farnsworth, would you join me in my office, please?”

She’d barely stammered out her condolences for Agent Scott’s death before Olivia, dry-eyed and intent, asked if Astrid would be willing to continue working with Dr. Bishop.

Astrid frowned. “He’s not going back to St. Claire’s?” 

Olivia hesitated for the briefest moment. “No. It turns out there’ve been a considerable number of incidents that defy explanation. Scientific experimentation taken to extreme ends. Agent Broyles calls it ‘the Pattern.’ He’s asked me to join a small task force to look into these events.” She added, almost offhandedly, “Peter Bishop’s tentatively agreed to stay on for now, to help manage his father.”

The Harvard lab, Astrid thought. No wonder Agent Broyles had been so quick to authorize all that equipment, if he’d expected Dr. Bishop to become an ongoing scientific asset. “Agent Dunham—”

“Take a day,” Olivia interrupted. “Think about it. I know Broyles didn’t tell me everything, so I can’t tell you what we’re really in for. These cases...they’re beyond classified.”

Astrid was used to keeping the details of her work confidential, but this sounded like...like she was being recruited for one of those top secret, officially nonexistent divisions that Astrid and her fellow agent trainees speculated about at Quantico. Or like— “Oh, my God, are they reopening the X-Files?”

Olivia actually winced. “Not exactly. Different focus. And from what Broyles said, with considerably more authority.”

But close enough for a valid comparison, anyway. Astrid thought about the class she’d taken based on work by the famed Dr. Scully, drawn from her experiences with the Bureau. Those had been the toughest exams Astrid ever had, and even in absentia, a teacher who’d been a role model despite the whispers about her past. If this new task force was anything like that....

“Yes,” Astrid heard herself saying, breathless. She’d had been ready to put the whole bizarre incident behind her. Now she found that she couldn’t, didn’t want to. She couldn’t define why she was so eager; she only knew that this kind of opening came along once in a lifetime and she wasn’t going to opt out. “Yes, I’d like to be involved. Very much.”

Olivia blinked at her, then nodded. “I’ll send over the documentation and nondisclosure forms. Thank you, Astrid.”

“Thank you,” Astrid said softly.

The documentation was, unsurprisingly, completely horrifying. These “Pattern” events had been going on for years, kept out of the public awareness through luck, subterfuge, and the tendency of human beings to invent explanations for things they didn’t understand. These events defied logic or sense, they obeyed no scientific principle, and no one had any idea how or why they occurred. 

She spent Sunday thinking about those cases, answering a backlog of personal calls and email and bills, and restocking her fridge. Her absence from church wasn’t particularly notable; the congregation (and most important, her father) understood that her job often interfered with any kind of set schedule. Privately, she considered church more of a social obligation than a religious one, preferring to define her relationship with the divine on her own terms. Her father understood that too.

On Monday morning, Agent Chatterjee confirmed her new assignment to the task force. “It’s operating under DHS authority,” he told her, his expression too neutral to be anything but a warning. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Agent Farnsworth, and good luck.”

Given that introduction, Astrid should have been less surprised when she was summoned to Agent Broyles’ office late that afternoon. 

Her new boss’s boss didn’t look up from his computer as he spoke. “Agent Dunham tells me she can’t do without you.”

Astrid did her best not to fidget. “We make a good team. Sir.”

Agent Broyles finally glanced up, fixing her with a piercing stare. “You understand that this assignment carries with it certain...extraordinary responsibilities.”

“I read the forms.” She said it quietly, but her voice didn’t waver, and Astrid was proud of that. She’d signed about a zillion confidentiality and secrecy agreements, and documents raising her security clearance.

Broyles pursed his mouth. “If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’re going to have access to information so privileged there’s no classification for it. A very small number of people are aware of the Pattern events and it’s our intent to keep it that way. This assignment will be hazardous in ways that far exceed the standard FBI playbook.”

“I understand, sir.” Astrid knew he was looking for more and tried to put her surety into actual words. “I want to be part of this. I’d like to contribute to something this, this important. I know my skills would be put to good use regardless,” she said hurriedly, in case he thought she was disparaging every other possible assignment. “But this is such a unique opportunity, I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t pursue it.”

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded sharply. “You’re to continue as Agent Dunham’s assistant in a support capacity, with additional duties as defined by the needs of the team. I suspect that looking after Dr. Bishop will constitute a large portion of those duties.”

And it wouldn’t all be as easy as watching cartoons. Astrid nodded, thinking about John Scott’s transparent skin, thinking about Olivia in the tank. Things that would’ve seemed impossible if she hadn’t seen them for herself. She wanted—needed—to be involved in a way she couldn’t have imagined a week ago. “Thank you, sir. I’m up to the challenge.”

“I hope we all are,” Broyles said, and Astrid didn’t think the comment was entirely directed at her. He turned back to his computer screen, obviously a dismissal. Astrid started to go and froze as Broyles’ voice came back over her shoulder.

“In case you were wondering, your pay scale has also been upgraded.”

Astrid glanced back but Broyles was typing again, so she took that as her signal to leave. As soon as she was clear, she accessed her FBI email and sure enough, there was an official notice from the finance division. It was a form letter, short and to the point. _This letter is your official notification that effective September 21, 2008 your new salary will be...._

She gaped at the number on the screen. Astrid had started her career at GS-10 like most agents, progressing through step increases at a regular pace. This raise jumped her to GS-12, step 3, about $15k more than she’d been making. She wouldn’t have expected to reach that level for years.

Astrid stared at the memo with a mixture of disbelief and delight, and then a creeping trepidation. She hadn’t earned this. What did Broyles know about “the Pattern” that warranted this kind of...hazard pay? What had she really stepped into?

Unsettled, Astrid gathered her things from her desk and headed home.


	22. Chapter Notes

Pilot

“are they reopening the X-Files? ... the famed Dr. Scully.” And from 2x1: “The old “X” designation and your fringe investigations have been indulgences in the federal budget for over half a century.” Couldn’t resist the mention, although granted (as Wendelah points out) Mulder and Scully are probably cautionary tales for new agents rather than role models.

...and as I was writing this, the news broke that _The X-Files_ would be returning for real. Which means **contemporary** _Fringe/The X-Files_ crossovers! EVERYONE NEEDS TO WRITE THEM.

“he’d authorize a Patriot Act warrant.” This is presumably how Olivia gained access in the s4 timeline.

Federal pay scale, Boston, 2008: http://archive.opm.gov/oca/08tables/pdf/BOS.pdf

 

The Same Old Story

 

The Ghost Network

 

The Arrival

 

Power Hungry

 

etc

**Author's Note:**

> Series Notes: 
> 
> This is an experimental, ongoing fic that I’ve been contemplating for a few years now. (Thanks again for Sprocket for the impetus to finally get on it! ;) My initial intention—with absolutely no timetable attached—was to watch each episode of _Fringe_ and immediately write a reaction-segment* from Astrid’s point of view. That hasn’t been practical, but the structure remains. The intent was to write these without necessarily planning ahead, tempered by foreknowledge. At the moment I’m hoping to keep to canon** with one notable exception, as described by this alternate summary: The one where Astrid and [REDACTED] have been having a secret affair for three years and nobody knows because nobody asked.***
> 
> * I reserve the right to edit previous chapters if a new element demands an earlier reference.
> 
> ** With enough added details to present Astrid as a real person with a real life.
> 
> *** At least that’s the goal. We’ll see how things develop.
> 
> Also, this is not a novelization. Anyone reading this is familiar enough with _Fringe_ that I don’t need to chronicle every moment of each episode—and that would be impossible from Astrid’s point of view, since she’s only peripherally involved in so much of the core action. I’m not interested in writing scene after scene where Astrid listens to everyone else talk or catch her up on the plot. By necessity the Pilot closely follows the action of the plot, but I don’t expect that to be true for every episode. 
> 
> Timing for this series is consistently askew. (18 hour days, multiple trips between NY and Boston in a day, and so on.) I’m going to make it work or ignore it, as suits the story.
> 
> Finally, a note of profound irritation toward the show: Some of my small objections (though perhaps not the larger ones) regarding Astrid’s role in this series could have been averted if she hadn’t been defined as a Special Agent. Many people work for the FBI who aren’t agents—analysts, support services, experts of all stripes. Astrid fills these roles without a gun or a badge and, frankly, doesn’t need one until a single scene late in the series. There is precisely zero reason that a trained Special Agent would be assigned to her role on a long-term basis. It’s insulting on multiple levels. I’m not suggesting that Astrid shouldn’t be a Special Agent—but given that she _is,_ the fact that she’s stuck in the lab while _Peter_ actively investigates is a gross slight to her established training and position.
> 
> That said, I’ll (mostly) be glossing over the impracticality of the arrangement just as the show did, for reasons of narrative and my own sanity.
> 
> ...one more thing. This fic would not exist without Jasika Nicole, who brought Astrid to life on screen. Despite the lack of authorial attention, for five seasons she embodied a character who was in many ways the heart of Fringe Division. The writers may have ignored Astrid, but the fans know her worth. And much of the credit for that goes to Jasika for her steady presence and essential support of the team.


End file.
